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Anson Thomas Sep 2015
She throws me a slow high-five
And turns to the gloomy corridor.
She's rushing to someplace I know not of,
Her friends join her and oh her jolly!
Why don't you fall for me?
I wish to ask....
I then realise we've been friends,
For just a day or two
"See you around," she says, and I have to depart.

This stupid whimsical heart I have
He is still getting used to,
Her nuances and this sudden sweet blush.
He stammers and shivers
He stops and stares like a child!
Why don't you be with me the way you are with others?
I wish to ask....
I then realise we've been friends
For just a day or two
"See you around," she says, and I have to depart.

Of all the jokes Heart plays on me,
Her three words,
Would be the worst or the best!
But I wonder what would her three words be,
"See you around" or.....
Songs about Alii #1
Anson Thomas Jan 2015
Oh pious advocates of peace!
Oh beatific doves of peace!
Hear me oh hear me
For the voice of mine is numb
To the one I profoundly love.
Your voice is but a lore of truth!
That which often goes hidden to the many men,
Those who walk for the living sake!

She who I love hears your voice with fondness
Trusting its novelty, the wisdom it speaks of.
Talk to her of my remorse
For I have learnt the wisdom
That which remorse had to teach!

Oh selfless hands of the earth!
Oh liberal branches of the trees!
Hear me oh hear me
For the deeds of mine are frail
To the one I profoundly love.
Your deeds are but a lore of self giving!
Often granted to the many men,
Those who walk for living sake!

She who I love is an ardent witness to your deeds
Trusting your tranquility, the selflessness you abide to.
Talk to her of my deeds
For I have learnt the wisdom
That which the brunt of misdeeds had to teach!

Talk to her of my remorse oh doves of peace!
Talk to her of my deeds oh liberal branches of the trees!
Talk to her of me!
Listen to your lovers cries those fortunate to be loved. The Woman
Anson Thomas Dec 2014
I followed the lead,
Of my sinister caretaker
I was taught to serve my greed.
And we lived with men of no stature!

That was when my people, brown
Just free from the clutches of blond folk
We spoiled many men, who wore an unseen crown!
For our avarice grew of their prosperity’s scent.

We hooligans ruled the fear,
Of the humble and the righteous
They knew they lived in no ****** shire.
Our bare sight, rouse them nervous!

We revered no civil code
Vices and hatred our nub,
We belonged to no family, no abode.
No handcuffs strong enough to help curb!

Such was our thing, our cupidity,
To which none dare rise against!
Our victims seldom showed their agility,
For grief we inflict is a poor choice to endure.

The honest fell on my grime feet,
But how long will justice fail to prevail?
My hired judges failed to sow my ‘righteous’ seed,
And I was pushed into the chasm of evil to wail!

My life until death now lay waste,
These insidious walls seldom let me rest!
My wretched soul yearns to run away in haste
The very thought of freedom, a precious zest.

The days at first I numbered for a lost cause.
They made me hope, the very part I often stole,
From the just by virtue of my flaws!
At night I sit waiting for the sun to rise.

Those rays of light seem now as precious gold.
No prison mate was a heart of resort.
As a shoulder to cry upon and hold!
I yearn for a wise consort.

A woman like a mother, I wish.
Though a dream, I least have this liberty,
I feel blessed to have it to relish.
But I remind myself to repent for eternity.

I am reduced to a number,
I dread to now count!
Seldom have I got to be in a deep slumber,
My nightmares bark like a hound.

I stare out of the window,
As repentance flows out of my eyes
A woman came searching for me that fine day
The woman of a just man I once slay!

She didn’t have revenge in her mind
But pity and mercy like the viscous honey!
She bought sweets, I met someone kind!
I felt mortified of having robbed her man.

She claimed to instill goodness in me,
That there would be no disparity amongst us
If she choose to be passive and loathe!
That day after years I felt a bird sang to me of joy.

She preached to me of gods,
Of the same virtue but different form!
I prayed to them, one day a lord,
And soon watching her made my heart race!

For she was the only woman I knew
The only one I fell for,
A forbidden love, I fancy!
Soon she departed to her pristine abode
And with her left an eternal grace!

To this widow I owe my soul,
Her goodness makes me hope.
That I can be righteous and commit no foul
And this was a dream I sowed passion for.

I would stare out of the window
To see the birds soar high.
No mountain stopped their flight,
Nor a tree tempted them to rest.

Then when I heard of death’s call
And that my endowments lay unperformed
Her words proved to be true,
Hope surpasses the depth of every woe.

There lay a little of life to live,
A respite offered for a promise.
And they let me see the world,
All its grandeur, all its bounty!

It seemed nothing like yesterday
For they had taken from me
The chunk I should’ve valued most!
The world had risen in time,
And I was left with none.

But it felt akin to waking up
Like from a deep slumber,
In a place not known to me!
And every priceless breath I now took,
Like the first breath after coma,
The courtesy of the widow!
An ode to all the prisoners around the world who repent.
Anson Thomas Nov 2014
Those instruments of the body
To help one see beauty and brute at once!
These are of  profound price
To the lovers rare wit,
That which they shall pay for, with their blood!
It is seldom these eyes are
The way lovers speak!

It is the eyes who speak
It is the eyes who hear
Where silence is the music of the ambiance!
Oh the ways of love
Who dares try understand them?

It is the mist that which never hides!
But often helps one lose his ways.
It is seldom these eyes are
The way lovers speak!

It is the eyes who speak
It is the eyes who hear
While they fist fight
For a naive smile, a novel price!
Oh the ways of love
Who dares try understand them?

It is the stars residing in celestial laps
But often too far off to earn!
It is seldom these eyes are
The way lovers speak!

It is the eyes who speak
It is the eyes who hear
When whispers seem too shrill
For eager foes of love to hear!
Oh the ways of love
Who dares try understand them?

It is the froth so mesmerizing
But often too frail to touch!
It is seldom these eyes are
The way lovers speak!
First poem for The Woman

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